


He Don't Play Nice, He Makes Me Beg

by HandsAcrossTheSea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bondage, Bottom Dean, Bottom Sam, Come Sharing, M/M, Prostate Milking, Rimming, Submissive Dean Winchester, Top Dean, Top Sam, brother kink, first of all this is so fucking nasty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 05:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12101862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea
Summary: Nothing shows you're in tip top shape better than being tied up and fucked within an inch of your life - at least that's the Dean Winchester way.





	He Don't Play Nice, He Makes Me Beg

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caffeinechesters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinechesters/gifts).



> I promised raunch for my next Wincest fic and by God, you've got it. I know that Wincest porn is an old, familiar tune around these parts by now but it's just such a good one that I want to sing it a million more times. It's like they say, a man's gotta know his strengths, and ya boy definitely has a firm acquaintance with his. If anything, this is a love letter to all of the wonderful Top/Dominant Sam fic out there, and I want to help that garden grow as much as I can.
> 
> Also, this is for Kat, whose friendship and quality conversation helped foster this work into being. She's an absolute peach, y'all.

            Dean is starting to feel like art.

            Maybe not high art, or even fine art – but art.  As in, Sam keeps staring at him, his face inscrutable, his beer ignored in favor of studying Dean.  It’s good beer too, a brew that can only be got in this corner of Washington, and if Sammy ain’t gonna drink it, Dean will.

            Still, he doesn’t say anything.  Not when things are going well and this whole “we time” thing is proving to be well, exactly what they need. (Save for the couple cases they’ve picked up just to keep the blood flowing because you know, practice.) Dean’s veins no longer feel like they’re on cold fire, and Sam’s arm is finally out of that goofy sling.  All around, pretty fantastic.  Yeah the Mark of Cain is still there but…

            Well, Dean’s ignoring it until it’s time to actually deal with it.  Sam hasn’t brought it up, and the thing they have going right now doesn’t need to be ruined by that conversation. And yet, Sam’s gaze remains firmly fixed on him, and Dean’s starting to get a little concerned that he’s seeing something he hasn’t noticed.

            “Didn’t get enough face time last night or somethin’, Sam?”  Dean sets down his beer and stretches, the last couple of fries on his plate long cold but tempting him regardless.  Sam eats one anyway, his eyes still locked with Dean’s.

            “Nah, nothing like that, just…”  Sam falls silent, chewing thoughtfully.  “Thinking.”

            “About?”  Dean doesn’t fear for the answer, not like he used to.  And Sam doesn’t have his “I have something really important to bring up” face on.  So yeah, this should be enlightening.

            Sam doesn’t say anything for another moment, because of course he doesn’t.  He finally takes a sip of his beer – a long, pornographic one actually, head tilted back so that Dean can watch his throat work.  It shouldn’t be nearly as hot as it should be but when Dean sees the hickies on Sam’s Adam’s apple move, yeah – it’s hot.

            _Really_ hot.

            “Good stuff, Dean.”  Sam puts down his half-empty bottle and pushes his hair back.  “How much for a case?”

            “Sammy, I think you were starting to say something.”  Either Sam had an incredibly dirty thought he doesn’t want to share right now, or he has an _idea._ Something that probably involves them having a talk, or an idea for a case, or hell, maybe Sam wants to piss on him – all these years later, and Sam can still be mysterious.

            It’s a pain in the ass.

            “Promise you won’t take this wrong when I ask?”  Sam dials up the puppy dog eyes to quarter volume, and Dean knows he’s gonna crumble.  Goddamn that boy, it’s like he’s the snake from _The Jungle Book._

            “75% chance – what is it?”

            Sam cradles his chin in his left hand, staring at Dean again like he’s going to disappear.  “How do you feel?”

            Dean cocks an eyebrow, trying to parse out whether or not that question is loaded.  “Uh, fine.”

            “No, Dean, how do you _feel_?”

            Oh.

            Definitely a loaded question, but loaded in a way that Dean thinks he has the answer Sam is looking for.  “Like a million bucks.”

            Minus the chronic aches, pains, reset bones, possessions and shit that crop up in the life of a hunter.  Dean doesn’t even count those most of the time, and Sam doesn’t either.  Besides, it’s not worrying that Sam’s just checking in.

            “Good, good.  Uh… good.”  Sam looks away and alright, he’s _definitely_ onto something here.  Something that given the tell-tale flush coloring his cheeks, Sam wants to fish for more details but doesn’t know how to ask.  He’s cute when he’s nervous, at first.  Even worse, Dean knows it’s genuine and it gets him every damn time.

            “What about you, Sammy?  You feeling alright?”  Dean is 99% sure where this conversation is leading, and it makes the beginnings of heat stir in his belly.  “That arm of yours back up to speed?”

            Sam makes a show of flexing his right arm and even through two layers, Dean can see his bicep bulge.  God, it’s obscene the way he can makes his muscles pop with such _ease._ Dean reaches out and squeezes, and suddenly all sorts of thoughts start swirling through his mind, namely of the Sam holding him down and fucking _pounding_ him kind.

            Just to add to his tacit point, Dean licks his lips slowly and watches Sam melt.

            “Yeah, I’d say so.”  Dean doesn’t draw his hand away just yet, playing his fingers over Sam’s elbow and forearm.  It’s a heady sort of thrill, just touching Sam’s body like this and at this point, Dean wants to try and push Sam fully to what he wants.  Dropping his voice to “make Sammy wet” levels, he says “Bet it’d look real good holding me down, baby boy.”

            Sam’s eyes get dark and bang – got him.  “Now you know why I asked.”  He’s a good kid, Sammy, checking in like that.  And yeah, they’ve been taking it super easy in the sack these last weeks.  It’s been nice, and the orgasms are good, but for the last couple days, Dean can tell that Sam’s been ready for more.  Thing is, they just don’t recover as fast from shit anymore and their sex has always been at least, well, _athletic._

Dean shifts in his seat, his dick starting to take very, very serious interest in this conversation.  “And I’m glad you did – but I would have told you that without the ploy, Sammy.”

            Sam rolls his eyes _just_ a little bit.  “Better safe than sorry – but Christ, Dean, I _want you.”_

Like Sam didn’t have him before but when Sam says _want you_ like that, it means he’s feeling possessive.  Greedy.  It means he wants to claim and reclaim Dean, and every time he gets like that, Dean is left covered in bite marks and bruises, his prostate wrung dry as the Sahara, and under all of it, pure, unadulterated bliss.  God, it’s been _ages_ since they’ve had that – and now that he thinks about that kind of physical contact, Dean needs it.  Sam too, because that’s the best way for Sam to make sure Dean’s good.

            Never mind that when they fuck like that, it’s always beyond mind-blowing.  That’s it – Dean wants to get _fucked._ Absolutely, completely fucked.

            Dean chews his bottom lip and stares at Sam’s mouth.  “What’d you have in mind?”

            “You know that sex shop near our motel?”  Sam has to clear his throat to get his voice back – yeah, he’s turned the fuck on right now. 

            “Saw it before the motel – you thinkin’ we might need to drop in?”

            Sam doesn’t even reply, just gives Dean that heated look he’s had nearly twenty years to perfect.

            “I’ll go pay for lunch.”

            He does his best “I’m trying to hide my boner” walk up to the counter, feeling Sam’s gaze on him the whole way there.

            It’s a five minute trip to the shop and given that it’s still broad daylight, it means that when they get there, theirs is the only car in the parking lot.  Still, the “open” sign is on and since neither of them will likely be able to walk come nightfall, now is as good a time as any.

            “Can you at least give me a clue?”  Dean had tried his hardest to get out of Sam whatever it is he’s got planned, mostly so he can psyche himself up more for it.  If it’s cock rings, then he’ll need good lube.  Bondage?  Lotion to rub out the chafing.  Panties well… Dean would wear those for him regardless.

            “Nope.”  Sam adjusts himself as he walks towards the front door, leaving Dean to catch up.  Hell, Sam’s jeans aren’t even that tight and they still show all of the good stuff off without a problem, and the sooner Dean can get his hands and mouth on all of that skin, the better.  He’ll even toss in a parking lot blowjob just because he’s dying for a quick taste.

            The girl at the counter doesn’t even look up from her phone when they pass through the door, the bell above it tinkling way too merrily for the nature of the establishment.  It’s like every other sex shop Dean’s been in; lingerie and clothing in the front, anything else in the back.  Sam doesn’t even stop to look at anything with lace, so Dean won’t even bother with new panties today.  Besides, he doesn’t even see any colors he particularly likes or doesn’t already own.

            Sam grabs him by the hand and pulls him along, his excitement making his eyes twinkle.  “Dean, c’,mon.”

            “Hey, easy on the goods Sammy – ain’t gotta pull my arm out of my socket.”  Which Sam could absolutely do, if he wanted – the fact that he _can_ just turns Dean on more.  Because seriously, as much as Dean pokes fun at Sam for being a giant, it’s really hot when Sam uses his muscles to well, bend Dean to his will.  Fuck, they need to hurry this along because Dean’s dick is literally tinging with anticipation.

            Sam moves along fast, scanning, picking, showing to Dean – they get lube, cock rings (for Sam, mostly, because big is even better bigger apparently even though Dean’s ass and mouth very much beg to differ) and while all of that stuff is exciting, Dean hopes there’s more.

            “Handcuffs?”  Maybe putting the idea in his head will help this process along.

            “Getting warmer.” 

            Fuck, Sammy wants to tie him up, doesn’t he?  They’ve made do with ties, ropes, even old shirts before – and Sam’s knots hold every single time.  Oh _hell_ yes, Dean’s gonna get fucked hard _and_ it’ll be kinky. 

            Sam stops and squats down, right in front of a whole all of cuffs, blindfolds, restraints, and God knows what else.  He looks at something far back on the shelf, then up at Dean, then back to the shelf.

            “What’s the headboard like in our room again?”  Sam asks as casually as he can, and Dean has to actually stop and think about it.

            “Uh, posts, why are… Sammy, what do you have?”

            Sam doesn’t say a word, just reaches back on the shelf and holds up a white box and yeah, it’s better than Dean expected.  These are full on bondage cuffs, with the stretchy straps that have just enough give to make life interesting.  And yes, they have them at home, but a set to take on the road, well… it’s not a terrible idea.  Dean shuffles all of the stuff in his hands to one and cups himself, making sure Sam watches how he lingers on himself.

            “That for me?”  Sam licks his lips and stands, showing off his own erection, pointing hard to the left and honestly were they not in a store, Dean would have been on him five seconds ago.

            “Nah, our waitress at the bar – but you’ll do.”

            Sam just rolls his eyes and cocks his head towards the door.  “Coming?’

            “Not yet.”

            Sam stops and grabs him with one arm, snagging him around the waist and shoving his tongue into Dean’s mouth, sudden and disorienting and _hot._

            “I can fix that.”

            They check out fast, the sales girl barely appraising them (she’s probably seen it all, good on her) and Dean’s the one dragging Sam now, eager to be back in their room and with his hands full of naked brother.  Well, lap, face, whatever he can get.  Sam kisses him again when they’re in the Impala, cupping Dean’s face and neck and licking into his mouth like he’s trying to consume him.  Dean spreads his legs, out of both invitation and habit, feeling the precome soaking his underwear.  God, it’s been forever since he’s been turned on like this, and all from Sam’s fucking _ideas._

Sam lets him go, just barely, and with a soft but firm “drive,” they’re off.  Dean doesn’t even bother to buckle up, barely able to keep his eyes off of Sam much less focus on the road.  He stops so hard in the motel parking lot that the tires chirp, and Sam’s out of the car before he’s even got it turned off.  Hell, if Sam isn’t playing it cool right now than neither is he. Sam already has his room key in hand and barely stops to open it, getting it in the lock on the first try and having it wide open right as Dean steps through it.

            “Finally.”

            Dean barely gets the chance to take a breath before Sam is on him again.

            Sam wraps him up from behind, his fingers lifting up Dean’s shirt and going right for his nipples.  “Do you have _any_ idea how hard you’re about to get it, _brother?”_

Dean moans, as much as from Sam’s fingers pinching his tits as the name.  “Gettin’ a pretty good idea.”

            “Damn right.”  Sam grind his hips against Dean’s ass, his cock feeling huge and hot even through their jeans.  “Fuckin’ missed this Dean, being able to throw you around.”

            Dean bares his neck and inhales sharply as Sam’s teeth bite down on the join of his shoulder.  “Get to throwing.”

            To be fair, Dean wasn’t actually expecting Sam to _throw_ him but he does.  He picks Dean up and carries him, bag of toys and all, to the bed and drops him so that before Dean can reorient, Sam is on top of him and Dean can’t go _anywhere._

Exactly what Dean wants.

            _Needs._

Sam kisses him again, not quite as hard but definitely still in a way that says “I’m gonna fucking wreck you.”  Dean gets his hand out of the plastic loops of the bag and wraps his arms around Sam’s back, moving down to the hem of his shirt and working his way up his spine.  Sam’s skin is almost too warm, rough where there are scars of course but God, soft where it counts.  Dean drags his nails down Sam’s spine, making him rut his hips against Dean’s and alright, it’s time to get naked.

            Dean shoves him off and all it takes is a little nod, both of them stripping fast and efficient.  Dean doesn’t takes his eyes off of Sam the whole time, his mouth watering with the more of Sam that’s revealed.  Sam doesn’t hold out on him either, letting Dean get his fill and once they’re both bare, strokes his heavy, dripping cock and lays over the top of Dean once more.

            “Got an idea, Dean.”  Sam kisses him again, good and deep, and gently shoves Dean up the bed.  “Think you’re gonna like it.”

            “That so?”  Sam could suggest murder for the hell of it right now and Dean would likely agree to it.  “Kinda dying to hear it.”

            “Wouldn’t you rather me show you?”

            Dean supposes that’s fair, right?  Actions are always gonna be a thousand times better than words in this situation. (Not that dirty talk doesn’t help.)

            Sam gives him one more kiss, this one a little on the slow and sweet side.  It makes Dean still and he likes back against the pillows, drinking in the sight of Sam once they break apart.  He reaches for Sam’s cock and strokes him languidly, knowing that he’s helping to bone up an already very hard dick while Sam opens the box with the cuffs in it.

            They don’t break eye contact for the forty five second it takes Sam to get the cuffs out and unwrapped, the heat skyrocketing just by looking at each other.  Dean has a pretty good idea now, and obediently he holds his wrists out for Sam to bind them.

            “You know the safeword, right?”  Sam scoots up so that his cock is right in Dean’s face, securing the ends to the bedposts first before fastening the cuffs to Dean.  Dean flicks out his tongue and catches the fat drop of precome pearled at Sam’s slit, making him shudder – yeah, he’s on sensory overload right now too.

            “Course, Sammy – zig-zag.”  It’s been their word for years now, and even three different incarnations hadn’t been enough to make Dean forget.

            “Good.”  Sam finishes up and puts Dean’s hands above his head, snapping the crisp leather closed.  “Too tight?”

            Dean wriggles his arm as well as he can – he still has a decent range of motion but Sam’s definitely got him to where he won’t be going anywhere. “Nah, just right baby boy.”

             Sam leans down, blotting out everything else in Dean’s line of sight except for him.  He feels deliciously powerless right now, the edges of is vision ending at Sam’s broad shoulders, the middle filled with Sam’s hairy (well, not _super_ hairy) chest and then one little flick of his eyes upwards and there’s Sam’s beautiful face, staring down at him like he’s the most precious thing in the universe, backed by a very healthy does of “I’m going to wreck you so good.”

            Dean fucking _loves_ it.

            “Here’s what your’re going to do, big brother.” Sam’s voices is soft yet booms loudly with command, knowing he’s got Dean’s full attention.  “First, you’re going to choke on my cock.  That mouth of yours hasn’t been properly stuffed in too damn long.”

            Dean nods, once, hanging onto his every word.  “Yes, sir.”

            Sam gets closer, his lips an inch away and curled in a smile.  “And then, Dean?  You’re going to eat me the fuck out.  Get me nice and wet for you, and you’re not going to stop until I tell you to.  Do you understand?”

            The pitch of Sam’s voice is so deadly right now that it makes Dean’s dick throb with excitement – he doesn’t have to see it to know that he’s leaking like crazy right now.  “Yes, sir.”  It’s a little less clear than the same reply a moment ago, but Sam’s working fucking _magic_ right now.

            “Then I’m going to ride you, right up until you can’t take it anymore and then _maybe_ I’ll let you come.  Depends on how well you do everything else, got it?”  Sam gives him a knee-meltingly hot kiss, licking across Dean’s mouth as he slides his tongue in.  Yeah, Dean taught him that little maneuver when he was seventeen but _damn_ if it doesn’t still work like a charm.

            And Dean’s offered him chance after chance to practice, too.

            “Yes, sir.”  God, Dean is absolutely tingling right now, his arms tied back and his entire being held down by the heavy weight of Sam, just _waiting_ to be overwhelmed.

            “Don’t ask for much, Dean – I know you can do it.”  Sam bites his bottom lip one last time and then he’s gone, leaning up and shuffling forward so that he’s sitting on his chest.  Dean watches Sam’s face as Sam brings his head forward with his left hand, the head of Sam’s cock _right there._ Dean opens his mouth and swallows him a quarter of the way down before he has to turn his gaze away and close his eyes, mouth full and his entire world melting away save for the salty, incredibly taste of his little brother’s dick.

            Absolute _heaven._

The angle isn’t enough to where Dean can do much except for relax his throat and feel Sam slide in further, having long ago learned to suppress his gag reflex to do this; Sam’s been big since he was a teenager.  Sam’s the one calling the shots here and they both have to take a minute to adjust, not only to the position but the situation. 

            They have an extremely strict rule; no bondage unless things are okay, and only if they are both in the mood for it.  Dean doesn’t get tied up if he doesn’t want to, and Dean doesn’t ask Sam to do so if he isn’t feeling it.  Just how it is.

            Dean supposes that’s as close to healthy as they’re ever going to get with this.

            “Dean, look at me.”

            Dean draws back just enough to catch Sam’s gaze.  He has to look obscene right now, with his jaw stretched wide and the feeling of Sam’s foreskin pulled back against the roof of his mouth.

            “You look so fucking good right now, so _beautiful._ ”  Sam very gently caresses his cheek and runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, scritching his scalp just enough to send electricity rushing down to his toes.  Sam fucks his throat a little deeper, making Dean choke a little.  “Always thought you looked better than me with a dick in your mouth.”

            Damn right he does, and he better; Sam’s never been a quick and easy blow, the little shit.

            Dean hums his assent, managing to lick the flat of his tongue over Sam’s frenulum with what little room it has to move in his mouth.  Sam groans, his head dipping forward and his body tensing.  It’s a cheap trick but Dean _really_ needs to breathe, just a little.

            Sam gives him a couple of inches, and Dean’s mouth is back to being full of _just_ the head. 

            That’s more than enough.

            “Feels fuckin’ good, Dean”  Sam rocks forward, pushing the head of his cock to the back of Dean’s throat and then back out, slicking the way with spit and precome.  Dean lessens how hard he’s sucking and lets himself be used, Sam’s cock feeling bigger and bigger every time he fucks back in. 

            “ _Really_ good.”  Sam’s voice is getting a little growly, and it makes goosebumps break out all over Dean’s skin, contrasting with the dull thud of his heartbeat in his own ears.

            Dean wishes his eyes weren’t watering so he could see just how wrecked he knows Sam is making himself.  God, his blood is on fire, not quite starved of oxygen but still not getting enough, overwhelmed by the scent and taste of _Sam._ Sam’s precome is more sweet than salty, and Dean swallows what he can.  Call him greedy, but he’s never, _ever_ going to get his fill of that particular privilege.

            “Can you handle more?”

            Dean nods, not daring to let Sam slip out.

            “Don’t move.”

            Like Dean could if he wanted to.

            Sam pulls out regardless and Dean really has to pride himself on not coughing and gasping, instead sucking in as much air in one take as he can.  “You ever consider a dick shrinking spell there, Seabiscuit?”

            He gets smacked across the cheek with Sam’s cock, sending spit and precome flying off like a little explosion. “You’d be the first one to complain.”

            Dean gives him a shit eating grin and lets Sam move him up so that he can take more of him in his mouth.  “Damn right.”

            “Your turn to do the work.  Now _suck._ ”

            Dean doesn’t dare disobey – this is too good to stop because of his smart mouth.  Now that his neck isn’t bent so far forward he can actually blow Sam like he wants to, easily taking him almost all the way down to the base, then slowly back up, slobbering and slurping so that spit drips down the length of Sam’s cock and off his balls.  Dean runs his tongue up and down the fat vein that stands out straight from between Sam’s balls to just behind the head, working it so that Sam finally has to grab the headboard to steady himself. 

            “God, Dean, hottest fuckin’ cocksucker _ever._ ” Sam’s about to chew right through his bottom lip, and Dean can tell he’s fighting to not buck his hips forward.  Hell, he kind of _wants_ Sam to come now, just so that he can ride him longer.  Trouble is, Sam’s stubborn and Dean knows that the more riled up he is, the better his own release is going to be. 

            It still doesn’t stop him from pulling Sam’s foreskin up with his mouth and swirling his tongue underneath it, causing Sam to lose his balance and come down right on Dean’s ribcage.

            “Damn right I am.”  Dean takes the brief reprieve to catch his breath, his mouth and jaw starting to ache a little more than he thinks it should. Yeah, he’s sore after hunts but it’s never the pleasant kind like this, from making Sam feel good.

            Sam opens his eyes and growls, deciding that now is just as swell of a time to give Dean what has to be filthiest kiss of the day so far.  He sucks the taste of himself greedily off of Dean’s tongue, moving so that his ass is pressed right up against Dean’s now painfully hard cock.  He could ask for Sam to suck him, or jerk him off and _maybe_ he’d do it – but he knows that waiting for Sam’s ass is going to be ten times better than either of those things, and both of those are absolutely fantastic.

            But he really, _really_ hopes Sam will move this along just a hair faster.

            “That’s cheating,” Sam huffs, hips rutting against Dean’s.  “Thought you were the one tied up.”

            “Doesn’t mean I can’t fight back a little, baby boy.”  Dean licks Sam’s mouth and Sam bites his neck, knowing full well that it makes Dean’s cock jolt.  With another growl he pulls away and turns himself around, letting Dean get a good look at his long, beautiful body before he’s resettled himself, lowering himself so that his ass is right in Dean’s face.

            “Get to work.”

            Dean needs no further instruction.

            Rimming Sam is as good if not better than blowing him, and Dean shoves his face between Sam’s cheeks like he’s dying for it.  He barely notices Sam’s fingers curling around his cock, slicking his dripping precome all up and down his shaft followed by the warm, wet slide of his mouth.  Dean moans against Sam’s body, scrambling to lock his racing impulses down before he’s undone.  Sam doesn’t stop at the head either, the angle allowing him to swallow Dean completely.  Christ, he’s going to be torn apart by this overload of stimulation, and Sam’s going to have to be the one to put him together again.

            He really wishes he had his arms free right now so that he could wrap his arms around Sam’s thighs and hold him spread apart better – but he doesn’t have that luxury now does he?  He works his tongue in and across Sam’s hole, lapping at the hot pink furl and drinking in the knowledge that it’s the same shade as Sam’s lips.  Fuck, he nearly comes from that thought alone and his hips buck off the bed, causing Sam to back off and turn to look at him. 

            “Not yet,” he says, low and threatening.

            “Your fault.”

            Sam tsks, knowing he’s right and licks the head of Dean’s cock right across the slit.  Dean bites his own tongue to stop the rush of heat to his lower body, feeling himself grow even thicker in Sam’s grip.  Sam doesn’t even seem to notice, his mouth too good and his focus absolutely solid.  Dean tries to give himself an advantage, licking from Sam’s hole down to his balls, sucking on them where they’re pressed against his sternum.  He can feel Sam’s dick leaking precome all over his chest, and the wetter Dean gets his ass, the more Sam’s cock drools.  Always in sync, even if it’s not in a way that most people would ever think of.

            Dean’s neck finally tells him it’s time for a break and his head drops backwards, trying not to think too hard about the loud, wet sounds Sam’s mouth is making on his dick, only for him to stop a minute later.

            “You good?”  Sam flips around and cuddles up to Dean’s left side for a moment, hands on Dean’s biceps to massage some feeling back into his straining arms.  They don’t feel _that_ numb yet, but it’s thoughtful as hell anyway.

            “Does dying of frustration count as good?”  His words don’t have quite as much bite to them as he would like but hell, it’s all he can manage right now.  Sam has him exactly where he wants him, and knows it.

            Sam smiles, kisses him on the neck where he bit him, then up to his earlobe (which makes Dean about ten times wetter than he already is) and then finally to his mouth. “Been doing so good, Dean.”  Another gut-melting kiss and Dean starts to strain against his cuffs, trying to will Sam into engulfing him completely.

            “Sam, _please.”_

Never let it be said that Dean isn’t too proud to beg.

            “Got you, Dean, always.”  Sam reaches for the lube stashed under the pillow (no point in opening a fresh bottle until this one is done) and reaches behind himself, gasping prettily when he realizes it’s colder than he thought.  Dean wriggles his fingers and toes, watching Sam’s head dip as he pushes fingers into himself, breath hitching when his fingers graze his prostate.

            “You gonna let me in on the fun, Sammy?”  Dean sounds awfully fucked out to himself, and he can still taste Sam on his tongue. It’s too much to handle, everything that Sam tries to give him, literally tied up and having it all rained down on him at once.  Sam finally looks up at him, half smirking as he reaches for the nearly forgotten bag at the end of the bed.

            “Was that a pun?”

            Now that Dean thinks about it…

            “Nah, course not.”  Not intentionally, Dean tells himself.

            “Uh-huh.”  Sam opens up the cock rings and before Dean realizes what he’s doing, puts one on and holy hell, the sudden tightness is _beautiful._ Sam licks his lips as he watches Dean get thicker before putting the other one on himself, making every goddamn vein in his dick pop out and now it’s Dean’s turn to stare.

            Sam gets on his haunches and teases the head of Dean’s cock against his hole, hot and lube-drippy.  “Been thinking about you filling me up, big brother.”  Sam starts to sink down, little by little.  “How nice you make me gape when you fuck me, how it feels for _hours_ afterwards with your come inside of me.”

            Dean’s mesmerized, the novelty of _Sam_ bottoming still very much on the surprising side.  Normally it’s Dean doing the riding but Christ, this is fucking _hot._

“Been a while, Sammy, surprised you remember it.”  Dean nearly swallows his tongue as Sam sinks down that last glorious bit, bottoming out until all Dean can feel is the tightness of the cock ring against Sam’s body.

            “Yeah, but… God, Dean you feel so fucking _good._ ”  Sam clenches himself around Dean and that’s it, this is absolutely how Dean dies, tied up and at the complete mercy of his little brother.

            How the hell else was he anticipating going anyway?

            Dean pulls against his restraints, trying to get to Sam.  “Didn’t think you liked this.”  God, the heat, it’s absolutely too much and too little at the same time.

            Sam manages a laugh as he braces himself against Dean’s chest.  “When the mood hits…”

            He doesn’t offer anything further than that, because all it takes is one little shift and Dean knows Sam’s found his prostate.  He watches a fat glob of precome drip from Sam’s cock, pooling in Dean’s navel along with all the other slick that’s been left on him.  Christ, the kid’s like a broken tap when he’s turned on.

            “Wanna taste,” Dean manages.  Sam obliges and coats the fingers of his left hand with precome, shoving three of them in Dean’s mouth as he starts to ride him.  Dean nearly bites through them as he licks them clean, eyes screwing shut and body starting to feel like it might soon be leaving this plane of existence.  Sam’s not a hard and fast bottom either, no he’s dirty and slow about it, snaking his hips and moaning like he’s never once had a dick in his ass before – which ain’t even close to true, but neither of them say a word about it.  Dean’s already close to gone, between Sam holding him down with nothing but a hand and the ever-burning fire that’s stoking him closer and closer towards climax.

            And knowing he’s gonna fucking blow inside Sam, knowing that Sam will be walking around with Dean’s come inside him for the rest of the day – it’s too much.  Dean moans loudly, head falling back so that Sam’s fingers slip out of his mouth.  Sam’s left hand is cradling the back of his head in an instant, his eyes wide open.  Sam nods, mouth wide open and panting, _feeling_ Dean’s climax rushing up and out and-

            “Sam, Sammy, I’m gonna-”

            It hits Dean so hard that he screams, pumping and pulsing deep inside Sam’s body.  He doesn’t see Sam get his hand on his cock really fast but he feels Sam’s come hit him in the face, landing in his mouth and all over his chest and neck.  They tear each other apart, fucked up each other’s touch.  Dean hits the peak and then descends very, very slowly, the aftershocks shaking his body so that by the time he’s wrung dry, Sam is on his knees and bent forward over Dean on his hands.

            With Dean still very much inside him.

            “That… that was-”

            Sam shakes his head, sweat dripping from the ends of his hair onto Dean’s face.  “No talking yet.”

            Dean just nods, daring not to open his eyes just yet.  He can feel the come and sweat on his eyelids but he can’t make Sam move to help him get it out yet, not when he’s entirely sure if they _can._

Sam does at least have the range of motion to uncuff him, and Dean nearly cries when the blood starts to rush back to his hands and fingers. 

            “Don’t… don’t move.”  Sam pulls Dean out of him with a soft, fucked out moan and moves to find a cloth, leaving Dean to recover without him for a moment.  He’s back in an instant, starting immediately with wiping Dean’s face.

            Dean gets his eyes open and there’s Sam, cheeks flushed pink and breath slowing bit by bit.  “Didn’t mean to nail you in the eyes.”  Sam doesn’t use the cloth to wipe his mouth, opting for his tongue instead.  Dean can’t move his arms yet, so he lets Sam kiss his come to him as he cleans up his body.

            When he’s gotten the worst of it, Dean murmurs “does it sound like I’m complaining?  Just an occupational hazard, that’s all.”

            “Yeah but you get it in the face more than I do.  Doesn’t seem fair.”

            Dean manages to not wince as Sam takes the cock ring off and sucks it clean for him.  “What, you want me to start blowing all over you when you suck me off?  You know you couldn’t stand it, what with you being a greedy come whore.”

            “That _you_ turned me into.”  Sam prods Dean in the side and finally wipes himself off, making a point to not clean his hole up – not much anyway.  “Aren’t you the one who let me lick your fingers clean after you jerked off?  I was easily influenced at that age, you know.”

            “Semantics, Sammy.”  Dean manages to sit himself up, his entire body aching with the effort.  “Felt selfish to not share anyway.”

            Sam drops the cloth to the floor and gets up on his knees over Dean’s lap.  “Well, I’ll submit your name to some humanitarian foundation for your generosity.”

            Dean nips his collarbone and decides that he’s had enough of _not_ having Sam in his arms.  “Don’t sass me Sam, your ass has had enough for one day.”

            Sam’s reply is cut off by the sudden insertion of Dean’s fingers into his ass, and it’s worth the yelp of surprise alone.

            And so what, _maybe_ Dean is a little greedy for come too.

            Sam certainly doesn’t stop him from licking him more five minutes later.

___

            Dean isn’t used to being in the bunker just by himself.  Even if he can’t see Sam necessarily, he can normally tell he’s around.  Most of the time he’s in the library, the antiquated gym, or the room he uses for his study.  Sam had insisted that he wasn’t going to nest, or make himself at home here, or try to make it his own – which was bullshit.

            It’s actually extremely comforting to Dean that Sam’s stuff is in drawers, his jeans that need to be repaired are still hanging over one chair in the library, that the mild scent of his cologne hangs all over the books Dean passes by on the way to the kitchen.  It’s _home,_ plain and simple.

            But he still isn’t here, and hasn’t been since after breakfast this morning.  Which makes a solid… nine or so hours without him.  Dean isn’t worried, per say, but a check in would be nice.

            Dean had taken the time to wash and wax the Impala, check the charms and boundaries, run to the store to get more milk, catch up with Missouri (that had been a pleasant surprise for sure), fix up some more holy water, eat lunch, work out, and then shower. 

            Which had taken all of seven hours, and for the last two he’s been sitting in the library with a beer and Sam’s laptop, still wrapped in his towel.  It’s started to dry out and he really needs to get up but he’d started watching conspiracy videos on YouTube and as always, gone down the rabbit hole.  He’s not even that interested in them but right now, it’s all he’s got.

            He really fucking misses Sam right now.

            Ever since they had gotten back from their latest road trip four days ago, they hadn’t been able to get enough of each other.  Sam had fucked him senseless twice yesterday and Dean had come twice both times – but he still wants him.  Wants to touch and feel and just be around Sam.

            He thought that this particular itch had been scratched, that they might be able to get some stuff done around the place but no, he just wants Sam naked with him, in a way that feels far more familiar and wonderful than it ever has before.  Ever since Sam tied him up and rode him to death, Dean has wanted that again.  To be completely at Sam’s will.

            That’s when he’d remembered the bondage horse he’d built a couple years ago, not long after they had moved in.  Years of motel beds breaking, inadequate gear, and any other conceivable problem you could run into with being tied up and fucked had finally pushed Dean to the brink.  It’s not like it had been that difficult.  Sam had helped, and often measurements were made using their own bodies and for a while, it was in fairly continual use. 

            Then the whole business with Gadreel, demonic possession, and the general chaos of their existence had intervened, and Dean had nearly forgotten about it.  Sam hadn’t mentioned it either, or at least not to him.  (Then again, it’s not he’s going to tell Castiel whatever it is that they get up to behind the closed doors of their own home.  None of his damn business.)

            And then Dean had seen it while looking for more charm ingredients, tucked away in a corner of the dungeon.  God, how kinky had it been to do that down there, on top of the devil’s trap permanently etched into the floor?

            Dean pauses the documentary he’s watching and stands, his cock half-hard at the memory of being tied to it while Sam worked him over with hot wax.  He heads off to his room, pulls on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt (no belt or underwear needed) and heads barefoot down to the dungeon.

            Dragging it out of its corner, he sees that it very badly needs to be dusted and wiped down – no problem.  There’s a closet full of stuff down the hall and two minutes later he’s back with a duster and polish (hypoallergenic, of course) and before long, he’s got it shining top to bottom.  God knows how much sweat, lube, and come has managed to work itself down into the nooks and crannies.  Ah well, it’s not like they’re sharing it with anyone else.  The leather of the backrest isn’t as shiny as it was, and the hand and feet restraints have some fraying on them.  Still, Dean wants to add more to both, and the sooner the possible.

            “C’mon Sammy, I’m ready for you,” Dean says to the empty room, his cleaning cloth in his left hand and his right down the front of his jeans, touching himself and finding that he’s already wet.  He wants Sam to fucking _breed_ him, just keep his dick inside his ass as deep and long as he can go.  Use it to hit his g spot as often as he fucking can while keeping him on the edge, drawing out the ecstasy and agony. 

            But what _sweet_ agony it is, and Sam absolutely knows what the fuck he’s doing when it comes to finding the balance.

            Dean puts his cleaning stuff back where he found it and dashes up to their room, nearly tripping over the slightly too long legs of his jeans.  He washes his hands and retrieves the lube, intent on stashing it back down in the dungeon.  Right as he’s stepping out of his room, a strong, familiar pair of hands grabs him by the waist and he’s spun around, slammed up against the wall, and right before he can try and fend Sam off, he’s being kissed like the life is draining from his body and Sam’s tongue is the only thing to stop the flow.

            It’s so damn good that it makes Dean’s heart miss a couple of beats.

            “Where you goin’?”  Sam closes his hand around the bottle of lube and puts in Dean’s pocket so he can lace their fingers together.

            “Wouldn’t you rather me show you?”

            Sam bites his lip in place of a “yes” and lets himself be lead away.

            The lighting down in the dungeon isn’t exactly romantic but it’s enough, and it’s certainly not like they haven’t fucked in worse places than this.  Hell, they’ve messed around in complete darkness on more than once occasion.  Sam isn’t going to knock him for not having candles lit, or soft music playing, or anything like that – they’ve never been much for that sort of thing anyway.  All that matters is having each other, no matter what.

            Dean also really likes Sam’s fingers between his and he might be thirty seven years old but goddammit, he’s never going to lose the novelty of holding hands with Sammy.

            Entering the dungeon, Sam whistles.  “This what you’ve been doing while I was gone?”  They stop short of the bondage horse and Sam moves to put his arm around Dean’s waist, turning to kiss him on the cheek.  “Didn’t think we’d be seeing this thing again for a while.”

            “Yeah well, shit happens – and since we got such a kick out of that little episode a couple weeks ago…”  Dean gets his fingers under the back of Sam’s shirt and scrapes his nails over the small of his back, making Sam shiver.

            “Why not go whole hog?”

            “You sayin’ I’m a pig bottom, Sammy?”

            Sam chuckles and turns to put his arms around Dean’s waist.  “If the shoe fits…”

            Dean lets him get away with it since he kisses him so fucking _sinfully._

Sam doesn’t try to push him towards the horse right away, taking his time to touch Dean through his clothes, rubbing his back, exploring his mouth with his tongue, never pushing how much he’s stimulating Dean to too high a peak.  Dean knows what Sam’s doing to him, trying his best to relax before Sam makes a meal of him.  It’s not that they don’t trust each other – Dean wouldn’t do this with _anyone_ else, it’s just that Sam has to be sure, both for his own sake and Dean’s.

            If it means he needs to stand there and make out with Dean for fifteen minutes, then so be it.  Truth be told, Dean’s a little nervous to, well, get back on the horse and ride again.

            Sam pulls off and rests his forehead against Dean’s.  “Tell me what you want, Dean.”

            Dean has to take a second to breathe, looking right into Sam’s eyes.  “I… I want you to milk me, Sammy.  Don’t wanna come until you let me.”  Dean grabs Sam’s hips and grind them together, Sam’s dick hard as a rock against his own.  “Want you to fuck me til you’re done with me, baby boy.”

            Dean doesn’t want to say _I want to be used_ out loud but Sam ought to be able to pick up on that.  It wouldn’t be the first time he’s asked without asking.

            Sam steps back, licking his lips at Dean.  “Take your clothes off.”  He stares at Dean while he drops his jeans and tosses his shirt off in the corner, the cold air making his already hard nipples pebble up even more.  He doesn’t reach out to touch Dean yet, instead circling him and looking him up and down, top to bottom.

            “So fuckin’ gorgeous, big brother.”  Sam crowds up behind him and puts his hands on Dean’s hips, right over the bruises that are permanently left there by fucking.  “Aren’t you?”  Sam kisses his left shoulder, his stubble scraping and his lips sending fires racing over Dean’s skin.

            Dean swallows, quickly falling into the headspace Sam’s setting up for them.  “I am, Sammy.”  Dean moans when Sam’s hands come up from his waist to his chest, using the flats of his palms to rub his nipples and grope his pecs.  Sam hums approvingly, biting at the pulse point of Dean’s neck.

            “Gonna treat you so well, Dean, make you feel _incredible._ ”  Sam rubs himself against Dean’s ass, his jeans and belt buckle providing far too much good sensation for Dean to manage a coherent reply.  Sam slips his right hand down between them and cups Dean’s ass, sliding it over so that his middle two fingers can rub over his hole.

            Dean’s cock jerks and he feels a drop of precome hit the top of his foot – of course it’s when he knows he’s about to be tied up and ruined that he gets wetter than ever before.

            “That what you want, Sammy?”  Dean sounds like he’s already been fucked, and it’s kind of disorienting to not have anything to hold onto – especially since Sam _won’t stop messing with his hole._

Which yes, is the point but Dean’s legs are starting to lose some of their consistency under this absurdly unfair assault.

            “Mmm.”  Sam steps back and lets go of Dean.  “Think it’s time to pony up.”

            Dean nods and while it takes a bit of adjustment, he’s soon lying back on the horse, feet up on their rests and his hands above his head.  He’d custom built it to make it as usable as possible, and it’s just as comfortable (or nearly) as laying on a bed.  Sam works quickly to secure him and once he’s done, stands between his spread legs and looks Dean up and down once more.

            “Beauitful,” Sam murmurs.  He palms himself through his jeans, showing himself off to Dean.  “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

            Dean feels himself under Sam’s naked praise.  “Wanna see you too, baby boy.”  Not much use in being exposed if Sam isn’t going to do the same, now is there?

            “Not yet.”  Sam bends and kisses the side of Dean’s left ankle, working his way slowly down up his leg.  He rests his knees on the pad Dean put down at the end, licking and nipping farther and farther until his nose is practically buried in Dean’s balls and his hair is tickling the join of his leg to his body.  Each touch of his lips and teeth is more intense than the one before it, perfectly gauged so that it’s not enough and yet far too much at the same time.

            Dean would squirm if he could but given how tightly he’s held down, he can’t.  Sam didn’t say a thing about not making noise, though, which is good – he started moaning when Sam bit the back of his thigh.

            “That’s it, Dean, get loud for me.”  Sam _finally_ wraps his fingers around Dean’s cock and holds it upright, not stroking, simply keeping it still as he starts to work his way up Dean’s right leg.  Dean obliges, unbidden, knowing that they can’t get kicked out of this place for making noise.  It’s happened so many times that Dean tends to still hold back but when Sam nips the back of his thigh, he lets it go. 

            “Fuckin’ beautiful, big brother.”  Sam licks inside the bend of Dean’s knee and rubs his finger over Dean’s frenulum, slow, tight little circles that make him start to leak even more.  He’s absolutely covered, great, fat drops of precome starting to drip down the head and over Sam’s warm, unmoving fingers, save for the occasional twitch of his index finger that makes his gun callous rub right over the sweet spot just below his head – Sam probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing, it either.

            “Sam, Sammy, c’mon, wanna feel your tongue.”  Dean tries to squirm, to thrust his hips up into Sam’s hand and get a little more than what he’s getting but one growl from Sam is enough to make him freeze.

            “Patience.”  Sam kisses the outstanding muscles of his left right calf and down to his ankle, repeating the same pattern as before.  Sam is so fucking good and so fucking _smug_ about being able to tease any part of Dean’s body and get a response – and Dean knows full well he isn’t going to say no to it.  Sam finishes by licking his instep and then he’s back between Dean’s legs, breath hot and his stubble just barely scraping against his inner thigh.

            “You have no idea how fuckin’ gorgeous you look right now, Dean.”  Sam’s hand is still firmly around his cock and he strokes, once, making Dean’s foreskin bunch up over the head and then slowly back down, smearing precome all over the place.  “So nice and wet for me.”  He nuzzles Dean’s balls and alright, that’s _way_ hotter than it has any right to be, especially when Sam inhales.

            Dean’s head tilts back and he lets out a long, slow, breath, trying to calm himself.  Sam’s got every single one of his buttons pressed _hard_ right now – and it’s still foreplay, still not anywhere close to full force yet.

            “You’re a monster,” Dean finally manages, picking his head up to meet Sam’s eyes where he’s looking up at him, his face half hidden by Dean’s body.  “And it’s all my goddamn fault.”

            Sam hums again, his kisses moving from Dean’s perineum and down by torturously small increments.  Dean tries to move Sam by force of will to just lick him, just once, to give him something approaching relief – even if this is what he asked for.  More than that, wants, to just give himself to Sam so completely.

            He feels Sam pause, lips right against his hole.  “Been thinkin’ about this all day, Dean.”

            _Fuck._

Just the vibrations of Sam’s voice, so close to his body, makes him whimper.  God, who has Dean ever _whimpered_ for.

            Oh yeah.

            Sam’s first lick isn’t a tease, not at all – it’s an assault, plain and simple.

            And then he stops.

            “Wanted to hold you down to the bed this morning and not let you up until those sheets were fucking ruined, covered in your spunk and my spit.”  Another long, spine-tingling swipe of his tongue and Dean gets a little peak of some other plane, brought back by Sam’s left hand digging into the meat of his thigh.

            Whether it’s to keep Dean or himself from flying apart, they’ll have to discuss later.

            “Why… God, Sam, do that _again._ ”  He’ll ask questions later, really – but right now he needs more.  A _lot_ more.  Sam doesn’t disappoint, scraping his stubble over Dean’s cheeks as he pushes his face in even further, the broad, flat part of his tongue giving Dean as much stimulation as he possibly can.  Dean wishes his hands were free so that he could pull Sam’s hair, move himself even closer, try and fuse them so that neither of them can ever move again.

            But this is as much Sam’s show as it is his, and Sam’s doing a pretty damn good job all by himself.

            Sam comes up for breath, but only for a moment.  He stands and strips off his flannel and v-neck, leaving Dean with a great big eyeful of rippling muscle.  He’s gorgeous, too much so for words.  Sam flexes, throws his hair back and settles back down, his arms curled around Dean’s thighs to hold himself as close as possible.  Dean kinda wishes he’d put his hand back on his dick but hell, he doesn’t.

            He eats the absolute fucking daylights out of him instead.

            See, Sam’s thing is spelling out God knows what when he’s between Dean’s legs like this.  He swears Sam has written entire books before, just so that he can see how much he remembers, the geek, and how long he can keep Dean on the edge before they both finally break down and come crashing together.

            “Fuck, Sammy, Sam, _God, that’s it, right fucking there, right there baby boy, fucking tongue feels so fuckin good-”_ Dean doesn’t stop, doesn’t shut up for an instant.  Sam wants loud?  He’ll get loud.  Right now, Dean doesn’t even have control over his own mouth, and honestly, all the praise that Sam’s been raining down on him since he ponied up feels, well, fucking great.  Even when Sam’s gone complete power top on him (and God what a mood that is) it’s still genuine, meaning every word he says to Dean. 

            Sam growls, stopping in the middle of whatever word he was working on.  Dean thought he had an idea of what it might be, and if Sam’s getting tripped up, it means he’s as gone as Dean is. 

            So he grabs the lube from Dean’s discarded jeans and wets his right index and middle fingers.

            “Sam, whoa-”

            Sam slides them into his body without a bit of resistance, and Dean is that open _already…_

Only to put his tongue back alongside them and that’s it, Dean nearly screams.  Sam knows what he’s doing here, and with his other hand starts to stroke Dean, slowly, deliberately, _perfectly._ Precome starts to pour from Dean’s cock, Sam stroking over his prostate every time.  His tongue keeps licking where he can, amplifying the sensations coursing through Dean’s body by a factor of a whole fucking lot.

            Sam must feel him clench involuntarily, because he stops licking and snaps his head up to look at him.

            “Dean?”

            Dean just nods, hoping Sam will be able to parse out the _please fucking rail me_ he’s screaming in his head from the furrow of his brow. 

            Sam gets the message just fine.

            Dean may drool just a little bit as Sam unbuckles his belt and starts to take off his jeans, pushing them down so that Dean can see the enormous wet patch he’s made in his underwear, Sam’s cock shiny-slick from precome.  God, Dean knows that Sam gets turned on by getting him hot but this is a whole new level, and his mouth waters at the thoughts of having a taste.

            Sam does him one better once he’s got his socks off and comes around behind Dean and threads their fingers together, bending down for a kiss.  Dean opens his mouth wide, letting Sam lick as much of him as he wants and he can taste himself on Sam’s tongue, sweat and lube and everything that screams that this is theirs and theirs only, a million remembered kisses, long, beautiful nights after a day’s work, smoky bars where they got drunk and screwed against the wall out back, roadside blowjobs and a life time of touches, glances, smiles, fights, reconciliations – Dean starts to get overwhelmed and Sam backs off, coming around to his side and crouching down.

            “You okay?”  Sam strokes the side of his face, his features soft and his touch light.  “You’re doing so fucking good, Dean, _so_ fucking good.”  He kisses him again and waits for Dean to catch his breath, feeling his heart absolutely pounding so hard he feels it in his throat.

            “Better than good, Sammy.”  Dean smiles and starts to say it, three little words that are constantly shown but never spoken really – and Sam just shushes him, softly murmuring _I know_ against his lips, and then he’s standing again, moving back between Dean’s legs and lubing himself up.

            Dean’s starting to feel like he’s _made_ of the stuff, that’s just how well Sam’s prepped him.

            Sam askes _you good_ with his eyebrows and Dean bites his lower lip, getting himself back on track.  “Been wantin’ that big fuckin’ cock in me all day, Sammy.  You gonna give it to me?  Fuck my ass so hard I can’t stand?”

            “Goddamn right I am.”  Sam rubs the tip over Dean’s hole a couple times, _almost_ slipping in  - Dean knows he can only handle so much before instinct takes over and they’re mutually torn apart once again.  “Gonna make a fuckin’ mess of that pretty hole.”

            Dean feels himself pucker, wishing he could get his feet free to pull Sam towards him.  “Fuckin’ want you, Sammy, c’mon.”

            Sam positions himself and pushes just the head in, looking Dean dead in the eye as he does.  “You love this, don’t you?”

            _Here it comes._

Dean just smirks and tries to move Sam by telekinesis – that happened once, years ago.  He’s never figured out how to do it again, sadly.

            “You _love_ getting fucked by your little brother, love knowing I can pound the shit out of you.”  Sam starts to get caught up in his own words, hips sliding forward and fucking _fuck,_ he’s halfway in all of a sudden, that familiar, wonderful stretch making Dean moan.  “Love that _I’m bigger than you._ ”

            Dean’s toes curl so hard that his feet nearly cramp – fucking Sam and his fucking filthy mouth.  “More baby boy, _more._ ”

            “Damn right you want more, you nasty fucker.”  Sam grabs Dean’s hips and yanks so hard that the whole assembly moves, _pulling_ Dean down onto his cock.  Dean wants to absolutely shout with delight, getting Sam so hot that he just fucking _moves_ the horse.

            “Want _all_ of your little brother’s cock, don’t you?”  Sam pulls himself out, and goes twice as slow back in, letting Dean _feel_ him.  “God, Dean, you’re so fucking _warm._ ”

            “Know you can do better than that, Sammy.”  Dean’s perfectly fine with goading, because Sam has just about all of his buttons pressed right now and he’s the only one that can finish finding that perfect sequence for him.

            Sam’s eyes narrow and it’s half predatory, half seducing – Dean tries to squirm out of reflex but Sam starts to fucking _move,_ long, even strokes of his hips that soon have the world starting to get a bit blurry.  Dean’s eyes are watering, his entire body strung tight with pleasure and Sam keeps plucking those strings like a virtuoso, getting faster and faster until there’s nothing but the slap of hips against Dean’s ass, the horse shaking every time they reconnect.

            Dean dies a thousand little deaths, and comes back every time Sam nails him in the prostate.  Come has started to leak down his cock too, rock hard and swinging wildly with the motion of his body.  Dean’s got precome pooled in his navel, his balls drawn up tight to his body and it’s not long before things start to happen involuntarily.

            Sam groans, faltering mid-fuck.  “ _Stop clenching._ ”

            Dean swallows, his throat scratchy from moans he didn’t even realize were that loud.  “Sammy, I, _Christ,_ I ain’t gonna last much longer.”

            Sam picks his head up and _slams_ Dean, hard enough that Dean’s dick swings forward and a fat drop of precome lands on Sam’s chest.  “No, I’m…”

            Dean watches as Sam’s entire body tightens up and he screams, long and low and Dean feels it, the hot rush of Sam’s come deep in him, Sam buried to the hilt and he’s only paused for a second, fucking himself through it with a steadiness Dean could never hope to manage.

            One perfect shot and Sam’s dick hits Dean’s sweet spot center mass, and this time, Dean doesn’t come back.  He comes so hard his back arches up off the rest, pulse after pulse of come painting his chest and abs white.  Sam can barely keep himself standing, trying to watch Dean implode and stroke him through it at the same time.

            There isn’t any coming back from a feeling like that, not immediately.

            When he opens his eyes again, Sam is bent forward over him, sweat dripping from his brow and hair and chest, his hands resting next to Dean’s hips.  Huge, finger shaped bruises bloom across his skin, and now that the rush of orgasm has ripped through him, his arms and legs are starting to hurt like hell.

            “Sam, baby – can you…”

            Sam nods, and in an instant Dean’s free, being hauled up into Sam’s arms and wrapped up so tightly that Dean might as well weigh an ounce.

            Dean hugs him tight and tries not to slide off his precipitous seat on the horse – there’s enough come and lube leaking out of him right now that he’s going to be feeling it for a couple days.

            “Can’t do it like that every day, can we?”  Dean rubs Sam’s back, secretly flexing his fingers to restore some more feeling.  “But Sammy, you were a fucking _champ._ ”

            Sam laughs softly, his chin hooked over Dean’s shoulder.  “I think I blew my brains out.”

            Dean leans back so that he can kiss Sam, softly, tenderly – until he slips his tongue into Sam’s mouth and makes them both moan.  “Feel free to look for it.”

            Then again, getting fingered right now is absolutely a bad idea – it won’t be long before he probably needs an ice pack from the pounding he took.  “I’m not doing that.  Right now, we’re gonna go upstairs, shower, and I’m gonna show you the books I got from this occult shop a couple counties over?”

            Dean finds that he can indeed stand, albeit with an arm around Sam’s waist.  “You mean we put off _this_ for books?  You’re a fucking geek, Sammy.”

            “With a big dick that _you’ve_ never seemed to have a problem waiting for.”

            Dean supposes that as they start the journey back upstairs, that’s the truest thing Sam’s ever said to him.

           

 

           

           

           

           

           

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't know that bondage horses even existed until I wrote this, so imagine how it looks however you will. That was Kat's idea, through and through and me being me, well... Dean does look good riding, doesn't he?


End file.
